Same Difference
by Pinkablu
Summary: From a young age Butch loathes the uniform lifestyle expected of him in the Vault and decides to do anything it takes to deviate from it. When the doc's kid starts doing the same he finds himself captivated; and Butch doesn't know what to do about it. Butch/F!LW
1. Chapter 1: Standing Out

Kinkmeme fill-in from LiveJournal.

 **Summary:** From a young age Butch loathes the uniform lifestyle expected of him in the Vault and decides to do anything it takes to deviate from it. When the doc's kid starts doing the same he finds himself captivated; and Butch doesn't know what to do about it. Butch/F!LW

 **Characters:** Butch, F!LW, almost all other residents of Vault 101 as side characters.

 **Relationship:** Hetero with mentions of femslash

 **Kinks:** Hopefully all the OP listed; Firsts, coming of age and gentle smut.

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"Chaper One: Standing Out"

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Truth be told, Butch didn't _remember_ when they "met". With Vault 101's dwindling population it seemed you were simply _born_ knowing everyone who lived there. This was especially true for children of the same age—all the kids went to the same classrooms, same cafeteria, same _everything_.

Even as a six year old Butch knew this uniform lifestyle wasn't for him. He _hated_ how his jumpsuit was identical to his mother's in every way except size, how the menu selection in the cafeteria hadn't seemed to change since he was born (or since his mother was born,when he asked), and he hated how every hallway was identical to the last with their metallic walls reflecting the artificial lighting above.

But most of all, he hated how this would be his life until the day he died.

 _Because in Vault 101: no one ever enters, and_ no one _ever leaves._

Butch's disillusioned view on Vault life most likely stemmed from his mother's alcoholic mood swings. She could be an overly doting mother one moment that showered Butch in affection and the occasional gift before doing an about-face as soon as her lips met her trademark flask. Her mood would become volatile and she'd spew all sorts of verbal abuse at her son.

Ellen Deloria would toss out the toys she had given him, screaming that it was his fault his father was gone. On occasion she would even get physical with Butch; He still had a bruise from when he hadn't cleaned the dishes right after she asked.

His mother's two-faced behavior left Butch with confused and conflicted, but over time he became jaded to it. He stopped crying early on and faced his mother's addiction with a stiff lip and dark eyes.

Had Butch ever been taken to see the Vault's Doctor, James Wickham, Butch might have been diagnosed with Vault Depression Syndrome. But Butch's mother never made him an appointment unless it was a mandatory check-up, and the weeks leading up to it were always far more pleasant for Butch. Ellen was probably being careful not to leave any discriminating marks on her son so Doctor Wickham wouldn't start asking questions.

So it was Ellen Deloria who would stumble into the clinic when injured, usually by her own fault. Most recently she had stumbled over her own feet, smashing her chin into her dresser hard enough to chip her front tooth. She sobbed on the floor until Butch called for help, watching security drag his mom off to get checked out.

That was his life's routine. It was a special kind of hell in comparison to the other Vault residents, but it was the only life he knew. He felt himself fading away, losing track of the days and weeks as he cleaned after his mother or laid in bed.

It wasn't until he started school Butch finally found his outlet; He met other boys his age, Wally Mack and Paul Hannon Jr., who were just as restless with their lives as Butch was. As Butch began acting up in class so did the other boys, forging a kinship almost immediately.

Butch would launch spitballs into Amata Almodovar's hair, write crude jokes on his homework and interrupt class with often inappropriate remarks or mock-questions before being sent off to the corner of the class, a dunce hat sitting on top of his head.

But he didn't care. It got him attention. Over time, it got him respect from the other boys. He became a leader of those rebelling against the system at an incredibly young age. He thought himself as the first to break free of the Vault's societal chains.

And then _she_ strode into class and one-upped his entire group in fifth grade.

"B...blue?"

Butch looked from doodling rather offensive illustrations on his unfinished homework up toMr. Brotch, his incredulous tone catching his attention. He and his gang followed their teacher's gaze, twisting their bodies as the doctor's kid strode in, head held high.

Butch took in the sight, unaware his jaw had dropped.

Sybil Wickham, Amata's best friend, had dyed her once-brown hair a deep shade of blue. Butch hadn't seen anything like it in his life.

"Yep!" she responded in a chipper voice. She didn't look even a little bashful. In fact, she seemed to exhibit great pride in her daring color-change. "I thought it'd be cool to make it match my jumpsuit—I wanted to start standing out more."

She had definitely succeeded, Butch thought, unable to take his eyes off the young Wickham as she made her way to her usual desk in front of Amata. The Overseer's daughter looked just as surprised as the rest of class, looking over her friend in stunned silence. It looked like Sybil hadn't let her in on the plan.

Before this moment Butch hadn't paid much mind to Sybil. She was just an occasional target of his pranks, like the rest of the class (with Amata being the biggest target for him and his friends due to her relation to the Overseer). Sybil had been a nobody, just another face that blended in, another voice he'd hear answer a question or two in class.

Today though—today changed everything. There was a surge of awe coursing through Butch's veins and his heart painfully pounded against his chest. He felt a tinge of envy spiking in the back of his skull, but admiration overpowered it.

He wanted—no, he _needed_ to talk to her. He wanted her to join his group of rebels as they rebelled against the norm. But right as he opened his mouth to suggest it to the others, Wally spoke up.

"The bitch looks like an idiot."

Butch turned his head towards Wally, blinking when he saw his open expression of disgust. Wally's words made Butch's throat tighten. "Blue? Who dyes their hair blue? In fact, who dyes their hair _all_?"

"Yeah, she _really_ overdid it," Paul agreed, albeit a little timidly. He always went along with what either Butch or Wally said, making him a bit of a pushover.

Butch felt his mind draw a blank at their reactions. He didn't understand them—Sibyl sat there across the room exhibiting what he had believed his group stood for. But the other boys were now staring him down, expectation in their eyes. If he didn't agree he risked the respect he had worked so hard to earn, so he swallowed and took a deep breath.

"She's trying to outdo us," Butch said, his gaze returning to Sibyl. "We'll have to show her we can't be outdone."

He had apparently said the right thing because the other two nodded in agreement beside him, Wally leaning back to rest his arm on the back of his seat. Butch's respect had been secured, but at the cost of approaching the girl that had piqued his curiosity.

But he wouldn't turn back now. When class started Butch tore a piece of paper off of his unfinished homework, wadding it up before sticking it in his mouth. He pulled out a straw he had taken from the cafeteria, turning towards Sybil when Mr. Brotch had his back turned.

He brought the straw to his lips and fired, hitting his blue target with ease.

From that day forward Butch wouldn't leave Sibyl Wickham alone.

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 **A/N** First time posting on this site so I'm sorry if I messed up something! Hopefully I can keep a semi-regular/quick update on this-and I hope it's off to a good start!


	2. Chapter 2: Cut Down to Size

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Chapter 2: Cut Down to Size

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"Get back here, Nosebleed!" Butch shouted, his boots hitting the metal floor heavy and hard. He and his gang were running through the Vault's hallways, causing a ruckus as they chased down their new, number one victim.

Sibyl Wickham.

It had been a week since Sibyl had shown up to class with her blue hair. In that week Butch, Wally and Paul had targeted her relentlessly, making her the butt of all jokes and the victim of all pranks. He had no idea how many spitballs she had to get out of her hair each day, but he guessed it was an impressive quantity; He even shot at her while banished to his usual corner.

He had used torn up bits of paper from his dunce hat.

"Go away!" Amata's voice rang out from up ahead of him, making him grit his teeth in annoyance. While it was true Amata was their second favorite target he found her presence more bothersome each day. He wanted to go after Sibyl and Sibyl alone ever since she dyed her hair, and Amata made that increasingly more difficult and always threatened to get her father involved.

"You deserved it!" he heard her yell again. The bitch _always_ had to get involved.

" _I. Said. Get. Back. Here!_ " Butch repeated with a shout, emphasizing every word through his teeth. His jaw was clenched as he tried to ignore the pain in his ribs and at the back of his head. He could feel the bruises forming even now.

It looked like Butch had found Sibyl's last stray that day, and he had ripped it right from her hands. In the past she had only glared or shouted at him when he or his friends bullied her. She hadn't even fought back when he put his foot in front of her on her way out the classroom door, tripping her so she smashed her face into the floor. The impact ended up breaking her nose, blood gushing out from nostrils.

Truthfully, Butch had been mortified when he saw the blood splattered everywhere, but was too stunned to even think about apologizing as she cussed him out, stumbling to her feet. Amata hurried over, glaring at Butch before rushing her friend off to the clinic, leaving Butch with his mouth hanging open ever so slightly.

He waited the next day for Sibyl's dad to storm in and give him a piece of his mind, Overseer right behind him. Or worse—he feared one of them would contact his mother. But it never happened, despite the glares Amata and Sibyl shot at him the entire duration of class. Butch didn't know why Sibyl hadn't ratted him out and was outright baffled by Amata's silence, given who her father was, but he found himself grateful.

That didn't mean Butch would stop picking on the the girls though.

When neither were looking at him he strode past Sibyl's desk at the end of class with a pair of scissors in one hand. He reached out as he walked, snipping a large chunk of blue hair right off her head. Wally had been the one to suggest it to Butch, saying they should "show the punk her hair isn't as special as she thought it was". Butch almost refused out of his own admiration for her hair, but had no choice but to give in when the boys looked at him with those expectant eyes yet again.

After completing the dare Butch didn't even make it three steps away before Sibyl launched herself out from her seat, decking him in the back of the head. He fell forward, hitting the ground with a graceless _thud_.

Her surprise attack left him dazed for a moment up until she pulled her foot back, slamming it into his gut the next second. He could hear Brotch commanding Sibyl to stop, but the usually obedient Sibyl ignored him completely.

Goodie-Two-Shoes had a bit of rage pent up in there after all.

After her rage-fueled attack, Buch's friends jumped out of their seats as well, shouting all kinds of profanity and threats at Sibyl. They started for her but before they could reach Sibyl Amata had appeared, roughly tugging her arm.

"We have to leave!" she yelled, dragging her towards the exit. Before cooperating she gave Butch one last nasty look as Paul helped him to his feet, disappearing out the door a split second later. He knew she hadn't been done with him.

Well, now the tables had turned and _he_ wasn't done with _her._

"Get her," Butch gasped out, struggling to regain his breath through the pain. Brotch was still shouting in the background, but Butch could hardly hear him.

"Right," Paul said, nodding to Wally. As soon as Butch caught his breath he darted out of the room with the other two, starting a mad chase fueled by rage. Butch saw only red as he ran, with the occasional flash of blue hair when Sibyl whipped around a corner.

"Dammit," Butch, Wally and Paul came to a screeching halt as the hallway suddenly split off in two directions. They had come around the last corner too late to see which way the girls went.

"We have to split up," Butch said, turning to the other two. "I'll take right, you two take left."

"What about Amata?" Paul asked, clearly out of breath.

"Fuck Amata," Butch said, wiping the sweat off his face with his sleeve. "We'll get her later. _Sibyl_ is the one who got me."

"Whoever finds her should drag her back by her stupid blue hair," Wally said, tilting his head to the side until an audible _crack_ was heard.

Butch frowned at that but nodded. "Alright, let's split," he ordered. With that the group separated, Wally and Paul's footsteps fading behind Butch as he ran down his chosen hallway.

If they had truly lost Sibyl Butch decided there was always tomorrow. Because both literally and metaphorically she couldn't run _forever_.

The hall came to an abrupt end after a few turns, though it had never branched off into other halls. That meant Butch has chosen a dead end and, if he had chosen right, the girls would _have_ to be there. He slowly turned around, eyeing the doors on either side of him with narrowed eyes.

"I know you're hiding here," he called out, his voice echoing off the walls. Butch didn't _really know_ if Sibyl or Amata were there, but intimidation was always the best method to stand by, just in caes.

Butch didn't get reply and didn't expect one. He started to walk forward, looking over each door he passed. Most belonged to other residents, but there was one that didn't.

It was a janitor's closet.

Breaking into a grin Butch approached the closet, bracing himself as his finger lingered above the terminal button beside the door. He was ready this time if Sibyl decided to attack him a second time.

The doors slid open noisily, metal grating on metal. The sound rang in his ears as he peered inside, his eyes having to adjust to the considerably darker space.

When his eyes adjusted his mouth ran dry.

 _She wasn't there._

"Shit," he turned on his heel, running back down the hall without bothering to close the closet door. If she wasn't in _his_ hallway then she was in _their_ hallway, meaning Wally and Paul might have already caught up to her. He cursed his luck as he ran past where they had split up.

It turned out Wally and Paul's hallway wasn't a dead-end like Butch's. It branched off left and right and Butch had no idea which way he was supposed to go. Right as he was starting to lose hope he heard voices echoing off the walls around him.

"Let her go!"

That voice was definitely Amata's. He turned around, backtracking until the voices were louder than before, eventually finding the hall they originated from. He followed the noise until he finally found everyone he had been searching for.

As proimsed Wally had Sibyl by her hair, pulling on it roughly when she tried to get away. She clawed at his hands and twisted her body around but Wally's grip never loosened. If anything he enjoyed her attempts, grinning down at his blue-haired captive.

"Finally caught you," he sneered, looking Sibyl in the eye. She grunted as he yanked her hair again, a tear running down her cheek. She didn't look close to crying though, Butch noted. She just looked in pain.

"Let us go!" Amata demanded from where Paul restrained her. She wasn't wrestling against him as hard as Sibyl was wrestling against Wally, but she was still giving Paul some trouble. He had to keep shuffling his feet away from Amata's as she tried to slam her boot on top of them.

"Not after working so hard to chase you down," Wally scoffed, apparently not as interested in Amata as he was Sibyl. It made Butch's stomach drop for some reason.

That's when Butch decided to make himself known, stepping forward as he cleared his throat. Everyone went still and turned towards him, surprised by his sudden appearance.

"Butch," Paul said, looking almost relieved. Wally didn't look like much of anything, except maybe a little perturbed the situation had been interrupted.

"Hey," he said, nodding towards Butch. For some reason Wally's behavior irritated Butch—or maybe he felt something akin to jealousy that he had caught Sibyl first. Whatever the reason was, he strode over to where the two stood, eyes flicking up from Wally down to Sibyl.

"What now?" Sibyl spat out after a few moments of silence. "Gonna get revenge 'cause a girl beat you up?"

Butch grimaced, then glowered."You just caught me off guard," he retorted. "Didn't think you'd go _psycho_ over some fuckin' _hair_."

"Why don't I rip your hair out and see how _you_ like it?" she threatened. As Butch opened his mouth to reply he felt a sharp pain in his leg; Sibyl had launched her foot forward and slammed it into his shin.

"Fuck!" he shouted, doubling over to grasp his injured leg. He hissed in pain through clenched teeth; He was getting sick of all these bruises she was leaving on him.

He really didn't need her to contribute to those.

Wally tugged Sibyl back hard enough to slide her across the floor in retaliation, making her yelp in pain as she tried to stay on her feet.

"Try that again bitch, I dare you," Wally said, staring her down with menacing eyes. Paul started to look antsy on the sidelines, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Amata also looked concerned, looking around for a way out of their predicament.

"Guys, can we wrap this up before someone finds us?" Paul asked, his eyes darting side to side. It was then Amata took a deep breath.

" _SOMEONE HELP US_!" she screamed, wrestling against Paul even harder. " _ANYONE, PLEASE!_ "

"Shut her up!" Butch commanded, turning on his heel. He felt a wave of panic shoot through him. Paul quickly moved so one of his hands held both of Amata's wrists, his other hand covering Amata's mouth. She fought back against his hold, but when Paul refused to let go she had no choice but to relent.

"Jeeze, why are girls so loud?" Wally muttered, giving Amata an annoyed look. He refocused his attention back on Butch. "So, what're we gonna do with her?" He asked, nodding towards Sibyl.

Butch observed her from a safe distance, the pain in his shin reminding him what happened last time he got too close. He straightened himself up, cocking his head to the side as he contemplated the possibilities. As he shoved his hands back into his pockets he felt plastic bump up against his fingers, catching his attention.

It took a few moments of fiddling with the object to figure out just what it was, but after he figured it out a sinister grin spread across his face.

"Well..." he started, slowly pulling his hands out into the open. In one hand he revealed a pair of scissors, the same he had used to cut Sibyl's hair earlier. "Why don't we cut her down to size?"

"What does that even mean-" Sibyl started, suddenly wary. She looked at the scissors with apprehension, shifting uncomfortably. Amata let out a strangled cry of panic behind him.

"Keep a good hold on her Wally," he said, clipping the scissors together threateningly. "And not by the hair."

Wally and Paul looked at him, realization spreading across their faces. Wally barked out a laugh, letting go of Sibyl's hair in favor of her arms. "Sure thing, Butch."

"Seriously guys, can we hurry this up?" Paul piped up again. "We really don't want to get caught-"

"Don't worry about that," Butch interrupted, striding forward towards Sibyl.

"This won't take long."

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"You went too far this time," Brotch scolded harshly, staring down his three most troublesome students. He was leaning against his desk, arms crossed and back straight. "Three months of detention with two hours spent here after every class and on weekends.

"Whatever," Butch said, rolling his eyes. He looked over to the desk where Brotch had slammed his scissors down right after confiscating them. He could still see a strand or two of blue hair on their blades. "I was doin' her a favor. She should be thanking me."

" _Fuck you_!" he heard Sybil shouted from his side. His eyes lazily moved over to where she and Sybil stood. Sibyl looked half-crazed at the moment, leaning forward as though she'd attack him at any moment. Her hair was wild around her face, uneven where Butch had chopped chunks of it off.

It had been more comical when she hadn't looked like a savage animal.

"What sort of favor do you think you _did_ Butch?" Brotch demanded, obviously not expecting any justified answer. Butch flashed him a toothy grin.

"Thought I'd try evening her hair back out. Felt bad after I snipped some off, y'know?"

"Yeah right!" Amata retorted. "You'd make a poor hairstylist, then!" The remark made Butch's eye twitch.

"I think 'barber' would fit me better," he muttered, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

"It doesn't matter," Brotch said in exasperation, rubbing his face with one hand. "Your parents will be notified immediately."

"Aw man...dad's gonna be pissed..." Paul murmured under his breath at Butch's side. Butch agreed with him; Paul's father was part of the security force and as a result was an insanely strict man. His power trips were part of the reason Paul was hanging out with Butch's gang to begin with.

"As for you, Miss Wickham," Brotch continued turning towards Sibyl. She jumped a bit, surprised his attention had suddenly turned on her."You also went too far. Butch may have started it, but you shouldn't have assaulted him for it. You will be serving two weeks of detention alongside them."

" _What_?" Sibyl nearly shouted, looking utterly betrayed.

"That's not fair!" Amata cried out, standing up for her friend. "If she gets detention then so should I!"

"I'm afraid you didn't do anything to warrant detention, Amata," Brotch said with a frown. "If anything you were trying to stop the fight by removing Sibyl from the situation. As such, you're free to go."

Amata's face fell and her gaze went towards the floor. "I'm sorry," she apologized to Sibyl, unable to look at her. "I'll wait for you every day after class, alright?"

"No Amata, it's fine," Sibyl said, her eyes never straying from Butch.

"A...are you sure?" Amata stammered out.

"I'm sure," Sibyl replied curtly. "I don't want you dealing with _him_ after class...and besides," she finally tore her eyes from Butch, something he was grateful for. "Your dad is probably wondering where you are."

Amata frowned, rubbing her arm in uncertainty. "...yeah," she whispered, the thought of her father pushing her to submit.

"Then go on," Sibyl managed to give Amata an encouraging smile. Butch watched on, the back of his neck prickling again. "I'll see you later."

Amata didn't protest this time and nodded. "Alright then..." she turned towards Butch before going, narrowing her eyes.

"My dad will hear about this," she warned before taking her leave.

"Now that that's settled..." Brotch's voice grabbed everyone's attention. "All of you can take a seat while I notify your parents."

"Wait, does that mean detention starts _now_?" Paul asked.

"Yes. Now," Paul's shoulders slumped as Mr. Brotch gave them all a stern look. Everyone began to shuffle towards their seats then and Mr. Brotch continued. "And to start off, I expect you all to write five pages about what happened today. Reflect on your actions and include an apology to each other at the end. Questions?"

"Yeah," Wally raised his hand halfway in a lazy manner. It seemed detention hadn't really fazed him. "Do we really have to apologize to the crazy blue-haired bitch?"

"That's another week of detention," Brotch didn't even justify Wally's question with an answer, just gave him a disapproving stare.

Wally shrugged indifferently. "Alright with me," he said, leaning back in his seat. Butch snickered from where he was, watching Brotch's eye twitch.

"I'm sure it won't be with your parents," the teacher warned before turning his attention towards the intercom near his desk. "I expect your reports to be done by the end of these two hours along with your homework for today," he ignored the disgruntled groans behind him. "I'll be notifying your parents now, so keep quiet."

With Brotch busying himself with the intercom Sybil turned to face Butch from across the room.

"I'll get you back, Butch," she hissed, her voice too quiet for Brotch to hear.

"Lookin' forward to it," Butch replied with a cocky grin, winking at her. She made a disgusted noise before turning her attention to the task assigned to them, pulling out sheets of paper from her bag. All their supplies were still there; No one had taken anything with them when the fight began.

Butch watched her a few seconds longer before letting out a yawn, rubbing the tender spot on the back of his head. He'd probably be sent to the clinic to get checked out, actually, now that he thought about it. Brotch hadn't seemed concerned, and Butch was used to adults not giving a shit about his physical health. Not that Brotch had too much reason to be concerned; Butch had, after all, chased Sybil down through the hallways just fine.

He didn't start working on his assignment right away. Unsurprisingly, he didn't give a shit about reflecting on his actions or apologizing for them. He'd rather think ahead than dwell on the past.

So he closed his eyes and thought about what Sybil might try to do to get back at him.

And what he'd do in turn.

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 **A/N:** Quick update, though don't expect that too often as work and school start up and, of course, writer's block is to be expected. I'll try update semi-frequently though to keep myself on track and not let the story dwindle and die.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, especially critique!


	3. Chapter 3: The Beginning

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"Chapter Three: The Beginning"

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Butch laid on the floor, cold metal pressed up against his cheek. He bitterly mused how the cool surface would have been a relief, if it were pressed against his red, still throbbing cheek.

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking?" his mother's shrill voice made his ears ring, and her question was immediately followed by a violent hiccup that nearly threw her off her feet.

Having made good on his word, Mr. Brotch had contacted his mother and filled her in on the whole haircut-fiasco that had happened earlier that day. Understandably, Ellen was infuriated and it took the span of ten minutes to convince her to stay at home instead of bursting into the classroom to give her son a what-for.

When detention ended and Butch was sent home to face his mother's wrath he took his sweet time getting there. He dragged his feet across the metal floor and kept his hands tucked away in his jumpsuit pockets, staring straight ahead as he neared his destination.

Within minutes of entering his home he found himself acquainted with the floor for the second time that day. His mind reeled about, trying to comprehend what had happened before registering the stinging pain in his cheek where, he concluded, his mother had hit him. She then loomed over him, swaying precariously on her own two feet. Her breath reeked of alcohol, the odor just slightly more potent than her day-to-day breath.

" _Answer me_!" Ellen Deloria demanded, her voice cracking at its highest note.

"Nice to see you too," he breathed, choosing to avoid giving his mother an answer to her question. He slowly turned himself over to his hands and knees, standing unsteadily with one hand clutching his side. His ribs still hurt from Sibyl's earlier kick, and the bruise had been agitated by his brief visit with the floor.

He watched his mother's face further contort with rage, his smart remark adding fuel to the fire. When Ellen rose her hand for a second time Butch was ready for her; he braced himself and, a second before her hand made contact with his face, he sidestepped her assault to safety.

Caught off-guard and off-balance, Ellen tripped over her own two feet, her inebriated mind unable to fix the mistake. Her eyes bulged as she tumbled towards the desk tucked away into the room's corner, her head hitting its edge with a loud, sickening thud.

Butch watched his mother's body fall to the floor and go limp, silence blanketing the room. His breath caught in his throat and he could hear his blood roaring in his ears; peculiar, since it felt as though his heart had stopped completely.

He stared at his mother's eerily lifeless form, feeling cold dread snake its way through his stomach. His eyes caught the sight of red slowly seeping out from beneath Ellen's hair, dripping down her brown locks to the floor below.

Finally, he choked out a whisper.

"...mom?"

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The sound of paper shifting against paper was abnormally loud in the small clinic. James Wickham somberly flipped through the pages of his clipboard, mumbling quietly to himself once in a while. Butch sat silently in front of him, waiting for the doctor's diagnosis; Ellen hadn't moved an inch after her fall, even when security came and dragged her off to the clinic with Butch close behind.

Though the guards hadn't seemed too concerned for Ellen (given that all of them had dragged her to the clinic one time or another) Butch had a sinking feeling that this fall was worse than those prior. He had seen her fall time and time again, injuries ranging from sprained ankles to chipped teeth and the occasional need for stitches. It wasn't like she hadn't knocked herself out before, but she hadn't ever been so _still_ afterwards.

And that scared him. He couldn't help but shift nervously where he sat, eyes glued to Doctor Wickham and his damned clipboard.

When the Doctor cleared his throat Butch jumped. James tucked the clipboard under one arm, giving Butch a bleak look before speaking.

"She's suffering from a pretty severe concussion," he started, looking almost sheepish. He wasn't used to giving fifth graders a bad diagnosis, especially when the patient he had diagnosed was their parent. Lacking alternatives, however, he was forced to confront the young boy, no matter how guilt-wracking it was.

"How severe?" Butch dared to ask, his eyes flicking over to the curtains that hid his mother from view in the corner of the clinic.

"Your mother has come in before with concussions," James said with a heavy sigh. "They weren't cause of much concern and she usually maintained some level of consciousness. This time though—I haven't been able to wake her," he paused, giving Butch a sorry frown. "I'm afraid she's in a concussion-induced coma."

"...coma?" Butch felt his throat tighten.

"I know it sounds bad," James hurried to say, holding a hand up. "But I'm sure it won't last too long. These sorts of comas usually don't, and her life isn't in any immediate danger. It's just a matter of watching her until she regains consciousness," Butch could barely hear James' attempt to console him; His words did little to comfort Butch who only understood one thing:

His mother was in a _coma_.

"In the meantime," James continued, rubbing the back of his neck. He definitely looked awkward now, Butch's lack of response making his job that much harder. "Do you have anywhere to stay? Maybe some friends or...family?"

His pause before the word "family" made Butch return to reality with a grimace, hands balling into fists. "No family," he said shortly, gritting his teeth. "...there's Paul and Wally, though."

"That's Wally Mack and Paul Hannon Jr., correct?" Butch gave a small nod, and James looked relieved. "I'll go get a hold of them, then. Just sit tight for a few-"

"Dad!" The clinic's door abruptly slid open behind them. They both looked over, watching Sybil stride in with an old,red tattered baseball cap. It was painfully obvious the hat was there to hide her ruined hair. "I can't find the scissors anywhere, do you know where they..." she trailed off when she took note of Butch's presence, their eyes immediately locking together. He watched her expression harden and her cheeks redden, familiar rage quite literally coloring her features.

" _You_!" she shouted, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You have some nerve showing up after what you did-!"

"Sibyl, stop," James stepped between the two fifth graders as his daughter began to make her way towards Butch, most likely intending to smack him upside the head. "This isn't the time nor place to be starting a fight."

"But dad-!" she argued. "He _ruined_ my hair!"

To prove her point she reached up and whipped off the aged baseball cap from her head, blue spilling forth around her face in a choppy fashion. In the back of his mind Butch still found it kind of funny, though he wasn't in the mood to laugh.

"Honey, hair grows back," James countered gently, though his tone didn't do much when his daughter gave him a wounded and incredulous look. Butch, too, stared at Doctor Wickham in confusion; In a way the Doctor had just defended him.

"Now, I need to call a few people so I'm going into my office for a little bit," James continued before his daughter could gather her thoughts well enough to continue her argument. "We have a patient in the back, so please keep your voice down. Understood?"

"...patient?" Sybil repeated, her eyebrows coming together. "You mean Butch isn't..."

She had apparently been under the impression Butch was her father's patient, which would have made sense given the kick she had delivered to him earlier. But as her eyes traveled from her classmate to the curtains in the back, realization dawned upon her and she gave a solemn nod. "...understood, dad."

"That's my girl," James said affectionately. When he reached over to pat her head his hand hovered over the blue mess that was her hair, seemingly changing his mind halfway through. He opted to lean down and peck his daughter on the forehead instead, concluding it was the safer option.

"I'll be right back," he turned, heading for his office in the back. With the Doctor gone silence settled between Butch and Sibyl, which was fine by him because he wasn't in a particularly chatty mood. He focused his gaze forward, eyes glued to office window ahead where he could see James getting on the intercom. He was making a point to avoid looking at Sybil but, it appeared, Sibyl had no qualms about looking at _him_. He could see her staring at him from his peripheral vision, and it was beginning to aggravate him.

He expected her to break the silence sometime soon (or else he would, if only to tell her to stop her staring) but when she finally _did_ speak up he hadn't expected her voice to be so... _sympathetic_.

"Your mom's back there, isn't she?"

Butch grimaced, unsure what to make of such an unfamiliar tone. After a few brief moments of contemplation he decided he didn't much care for it. With a scowl he finally met her gaze. "So what if she is?" he snapped hard enough to make her flinch. "Why do you care? Gonna go tell the whole Vault my mom's in the clinic again, huh?"

Sybil faltered, completely bewildered by Butch's hostility. "N-no—I was just—I wasn't going to-!"

"Then shut up and leave me alone, Nosebleed," he seethed, ripping his gaze from her to refocus on the window James was behind. "I don't need your pity."

"...I wasn't pitying you..." she mumbled dejectedly, though she said nothing after that. It seemed she gave in to his demands, leaving him to try reading her father's lips unsuccessfully.

When the door finally opened and James came out, Sybil ran to her father's side before Butch could ask what had become of his living arrangements.

"Dad, what's going on?" she asked, ignoring the hiss Butch let out behind her. She had circumvented his refusal to answer by going straight to the source, and that made him want to rip out the rest of her blue hair from the roots.

"Hey-!" he sprung up from his seat towards Sibyl but was stopped by James when he put a hand between them.

" _Enough_ ," he, his voice carrying a note of finality even Butch couldn't deny. So he swallowed the insults he had prepared and settled for giving Sybil a nasty look instead.

"Now, about where you'll be staying..." James continued, ignoring his daughter's inquiry. "I'm afraid neither the Macks nor the Hannons are willing to take you in..."

"W-what?" Butch blanched, looking behind James towards his office intercom as if it had betrayed him. "But we're friends! They wouldn't-"

"This isn't about your friendship with their sons," James interrupted, frowning. "Their parents just aren't willing to let you into their homes after today's...ordeal."

Butch felt his ears go red and knew Sybil had focused her attention on him again. He balled his hands into fists and looked up at the doctor, glowering. "Then where the hell am I supposed to _go_?"

"Yes, about that..." James started slowly. "I can't let you go home by yourself, but there's no one left to call, so...," he took a deep breath. "It looks like you'll be staying with Sibyl and I for now."

" _What_?"

Both Butch and Sibyl gawked at James, shocked. Of all the ways his day could have come to a close, Butch never imagined it'd include bunking with _her_.

"Dad, you can't—!" Sybil cried out, reaching out to tug on her father's lab coat. "There has to be somewhere else he can go—anywhere else!"

Butch didn't know why those words stung—he wasn't exactly thrilled about this whole arrangement either—but they did. Maybe it had something to do with being rejected twice already that day.

"There _isn't_ anywhere else for him right now, honey," James explained, brushing his knuckles across Sybil's cheek. "This is for the best. This also means he'll be close to his mother as she recovers, so it's really a win-win."

Sibyl looked back to Butch when her father confirmed it was his mother that had been admitted to the clinic. He could see her mentally connecting the dots, her mouth dropping to form a silent "o" as the situation became that much clearer. He couldn't stand looking at her and so he averted his gaze, wiping his nose with his thumb before shoving both hands into his pockets.

"...he isn't staying in my room, is he?" Sibyl whispered to her father, lifting herself up onto her toes as though getting a few inches closer to his ears would mean Butch couldn't hear her. He could.

"No, of course not," James reassured with a soft laugh, the question lighting his eyes up with amusement. Sibyl let out a breath of relief and immediately relaxed, making Butch scoff—as if he'd stay in some girl's room. Gross.

"...then I guess it's OK," she said, nodding as though her approval meant something.

"Don't I have a say in this?" Butch finally snapped, Sybil's self-determined "important" approval proving too much for him. He glared at them both, sneering like a trapped animal. "What if I don't _want_ to stay with either of you?"

"Then I'd have to speak with the Overseer about your arrangements who, last I heard, wasn't all too pleased with your actions today either," James said, his kind voice hardly hiding the warning behind his words. "I think it's safe to say we're your best bet."

Butch grunted, picking up on the warning and recognizing the truth in his words. "Fine...but don't you _dare_ tell anyone about this, OK?"

The last thing Butch needed after all of this was for the other kids to catch wind of what had happened. He didn't want anyone to pity him, he didn't want anyone to think they were better than him because of his mother and he sure as hell didn't want his classmates to start teasing him about staying with the Doctor and his precious daughter. He didn't know what he'd do if Wally brought it up in conversation; He'd probably just punch him and get a few more weeks of detention under his belt.

"As if I'd tell anyone!" Sybil retorted a little too loudly, crossing her arms. "I don't want anyone knowing either."

"Ha, not even Amata?" Butch challenged, his eyes narrowing. When she faltered he knew he had been right and let out an annoyed grunt. "I knew it—you were going to tell the bi-" he barely managed to stop himself from calling Amata something less than polite, glancing to James wearily before continuing. "...the brat."

"N-no I wasn't..." Sybil stammered out, reaching over to her arm so she could rub it insecurely. "I'm not gonna tell anyone...if you don't tell Wally or Paul."

No worries there.

"Deal," he said with a shrug, rolling his eyes when her relief showed plainly on her face.

"Alright you two," James' eyes were still brimming with amusement, obviously enjoying the little exchange between Sybil and Butch. "if that's how it's going to be, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take the opportunity to set a condition."

"Huh?" Sybil looked to her father, raising a brow. "A condition?"

"Yes, a condition. If you two want this to be a secret so badly you'll have to buy my silence," James was unable to resist grinning at the two fifth graders as they tensed in front of him. "There will be _no_ fighting between the two of you during this arrangement. If I catch you two going at it I'll make sure the _whole vault_ knows we're all living together. Understood?"

Butch was stunned by the old man's cunning. He had seen an opportunity and hadn't hesitated for even a moment to seize it; he had them cornered, and he knew it. Butch felt an inkling of respect for the Doctor, though it was largely overridden by rage.

"But...but that's not fair! It's Butch who always starts it!" Sibyl cried out before Butch could voice his own complaint. She jabbed her finger at him again, something she seemed to do quite often.

"Only 'cause you're askin' for it," Butch shot back, their eyes locking together as they glared at each other dangerously.

"This is what I'm talking about," James sighed, shaking his head. "If this continues I'm letting the cat out of the bag. So it's best you two put your differences aside and start getting along."

Butch and Sibyl shared a look then, a mutual understanding forming between them, no matter how reluctantly. Their glares lost their venom, for now, and they turned their gazes elsewhere.

"Got it, doc," Butch said under his breath begrudgingly. He didn't know how he'd pull this off because Sybil had been right; He always picked their fights, especially in front of the other boys, and he didn't know how he'd stop himself after establishing such a routine. And if he _did_ quell his impulses, how would he do it without raising suspicions from Paul or Wally?

"Yeah, I got it too," Sibyl relented across from him, letting out a heavy sigh. "Can I just...have the scissors now?"

"Right, I nearly forgot," James said, walking over to one of the trays that were set aside on a table. He plucked a pair of scissors off of it, handing it to Sibyl with the plastic handles facing her. "There you go sweetie. You sure you don't want to wait for a hair appointment...?"

"Yeah I'm sure. I've had enough of people cutting my hair for me," Butch had to bite his tongue and swallow a smart remark that came to mind as she shot him a look. It was torture, keeping to himself like hat. "But thanks. I'm gonna head back now," she reached out and took the pair of scissors from her father, looking them over a moment before turning to leave.

She walked past him without sparing him another look, though she hesitated right outside the door. There was a brief, extremely awkward pause that was broken by her mumbling something quietly-something he could hardly hear-before she put her red cap back on over her blue hair and left down the hall.

It had sounded, to him, like she had said something along the lines of "see you at home".

Focused on watching her leave and trying to figure out what she had said exactly, Butch didn't notice the Doctor approaching him until he felt his fingers dig into his shoulder. He jumped in surprise, instinctively reaching over to push the man's hand off his shoulder only to find it was firmly planted there; the grip didn't hurt, but it demanded his attention.

"I'm letting you stay with us because you have nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to," Butch saw an unusual intensity in James' eyes when he looked back at him, and it made him nervous. "But don't think I'm not just as upset as the other parents are about today. I might even be more so, since it's _my_ daughter you went after."

"Then why bother?" Butch grumbled bitterly, yanking his shoulder back. James' hand let go, allowing Butch to spin around and face him. "It's not like you're my dad. I'm not your 'problem' and I can handle myself just fine."

"...I don't doubt that..." There was a look in James' eyes Butch couldn't quite figure out—something akin to pity, but not quite the same. He wasn't sure how he felt about that expression. "Regardless, you're still young and that sort of responsibility shouldn't fall on you yet. So I'm sorry, Butch, but you're stuck with us until your mother's well enough to go home."

"Hn," Butch grunted, too tired to argue. "Fine. Whatever. Have it your way..." he waved his hand in front of him, changing the subject. "Can we just hurry this up so I can get some shut-eye already?"

"It'll only be a few more minutes," James said, accepting Butch's abrupt topic change. He gestured to some lockers against the wall not too far away. "Go ahead and get some blankets out of there while I finish up cleaning up. You'll be staying in my room and we don't have an extra bed."

 _Making me sleep on the floor, huh? Ass._ He thought bitterly as he made his ways to the lockers, rummaging through them to find the softest blankets possible. He took them into his arms, kicking the locker shut with too much force, the sound echoing off the walls.

He plopped himself down in the small "waiting area" of the clinic, watching James begin to clean the small space. He inspected his equipment and cleaned any tools that were laying about before putting them away in their respective places. After checking a few files on his terminal he shut it down for the night, heading towards the curtains Ellen was behind to check her vitals one last time before finishing up.

By the time James neared Butch he was beginning to nod off, the day's exhaustion catching up with him. He would have been fine passing out then and there, but the Doctor wasn't as content with the idea.

"It's time to wake up," James said, gently shaking Butch's shoulder. The boy groaned in return, one hand going up to rub his face. He muttered a curse but if James heard him he didn't pay it any mind. "Our place isn't far from here. I can hold the blankets."

Butch felt James lift the blankets off of him and he finally opened his eyes, letting out a big yawn as he did. He stretched his legs out until they popped before standing up somewhat clumsily, his eyesight still bleary. James waited for him to make his way out the door before flicking the clinic's lights off, closing the door behind them.

Just as James had promised the Wickham residence wasn't far from the clinic at all. He hardly remembered the journey as he stumbled in after the Doctor, ready to collapse on the floor. Sybil was nowhere in sight, having probably gone to bed herself.

"Here's our room," James said as they walked into a decent-sized bedroom; it was certainly larger than Butch or his mother's rooms, that much was clear. A double bed was pushed back in the corner with a dresser at its foot, an assortment of medical magazines stacked neatly on top.

While Butch looked around the room observing the differences between the Wickham residence and his own, James began to lay the blankets they had taken from the clinic out on the ground, stealing a pillow from the bed as a last finishing touch.

"There we go," he said. "We better get to bed while there's still some night left to sleep through. The alarm goes off at six-thirty, but I'll set it again to go off at eight for you," Butch looked over to James and then to the bedside table, a small electric clock ticking away. Beside it was a frame with what looked like a page of a book inside, though Butch couldn't read it from where he stood.

"Uh-huh," Butch yawned, covering his mouth with a fist. When he began to stumble towards the makeshift bed on the ground he realized he didn't even have any night clothes to change into.

In fact, he didn't have _any_ of his things.

"I need to get my stuff tomorrow," he muttered, a bit perturbed his "host" hadn't thought about that ahead of time. He didn't like the idea of getting up early so he could grab his backpack from his room back home.

"I'll get it for you before work," James stood by his dresser, combing through its contents before pulling out an over-sized nighttime Vault-issued jumpsuit. While it was true none of the old-world's fashionable clothes remained in the Vault after the bombs dropped, the inhabitants weren't stuck with a single style of jumpsuit to wear; besides job-specific styles, such as the armored Vault security jumpsuits, they also had suits that were made of softer, more flexible material perfect for sleeping in comfortably.

Butch took the suit, looking over it briefly. It was in good condition, as though it were hardly slept in.

"Go ahead and change into that while I check up on Sybil," James said, shrugging off his lab coat. He hung it up on the wall's coat hanger before heading out of the room. Despite his exhaustion Butch was half inclined to follow him—he wanted to know if Sybil had managed to make her hair look decent or if she had just gone ahead and shaved it all off.

But he stayed put in James' room, unzipping his jumpsuit. It fell around his ankles where he then kicked it away into the corner, stepping into the night-suit he had been given.

Once it was zipped up he looked himself over with a frown. Of course it was far too big on him, he was just a fifth grader now wearing adult pajamas. But it was preferable over the stiff jumpsuit he usually wore, so he made his way to his makeshift bed and got between the covers, letting out a big yawn as he began to settle.

He immediately began to fall asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness when James returned to the room. He hardly noticed, even when strong hands picked him up off the floor Butch was too tired to care. But the second he felt himself sink into a mattress his eyes began to reluctantly open.

James' back was to him now as he went to turn the lights off. In the darkness Butch watched the older man make his way to the makeshift bed on the ground, taking his place there without changing out of his work jumpsuit.

"Goodnight Butch," he heard James say softly, and Butch felt his chest tighten painfully.

For the briefest moment Butch felt guilt course through him. Despite everything he had done to Sybil, today only being one example of his bullying, the doctor had not only taken him in but given Butch his bed as well.

Was this what having a father was like?

He felt himself begin to drift away again and knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer, so the feelings he was experiencing would have to be put on hold. His eyes started to roll about as he tried to fight off the urge to sleep, eventually landing on the picture frame he had noticed when he had first entered the room.

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough to barely make out the words in the frame.

 _I am the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end._

Everything after that was dark.

He was gone.

xxxxxxxx

 **A/N:** So I technically had this done like...two days after last chapter but honestly it kicked my ass the entire time. It's longer (9 pages) and it just wasn't much fun to write after the first scene with Butch's mom knocking herself out. Which, I mean, that happens while writing, especially when setting up future events, but that DOESN'T COMFORT ME.

And so, to be honest, I was lazy and reluctant with this chapter and should have finished it sooner. Writer's block too, and I'm not sure I'm 100% satisfied with this chapter but...it needs to get the hell out of my files so I can move on.

Thanks to my reviewers and those who pm'd me though! Especially keelhauled who sent a kind pm that motivated me enough to do one last revision before posting.

If there are mistakes (there probably are) please point them out, and critique in general! Hell, if someone out there wants to beta read, god bless you.


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